


A Question of Lust

by withthepilot



Series: Catholic Schoolboys AU [8]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blasphemy, Catholic School, M/M, Religious Themes & References, Schoolboys, Underage Character, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris faces his mounting feelings for Zach in the face of numerous hurdles and (sexy) distractions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Question of Lust

**Author's Note:**

> Part 8 of the Catholic Schoolboys AU series.

"Oh, my _fuck_."

Chris digs his fingernails deep into the aged wood of the shelf and tries not to knock over any books, just in case someone's actually walking around the deserted science textbook section of the school library. If the cranky librarian happened to creep over at this moment, she'd be in for a hell of a sight: one trembling Christopher Pine, leaning on a towering bookshelf with his uniform trousers bunched around his ankles, getting his hole licked, sucked and spit-shined by one enterprising Zachary John Quinto.

(He got a look at Zach's school ID on the way in, hence the discovery of a middle name. Another John; he nearly laughed.)

Zach pauses and whispers, "Not so loud," admonishing Chris, who can barely hear him over the roar of blood rushing past his ears. "You'll attract attention."

Chris groans faintly, thumping a fist against the shelf; a cloud of dust rises up in its wake. The rimming itself was Zach's brilliant idea, brought up shyly during last night's conversation/make-out session. He was so soft and quiet when he asked that the impact of the words nearly made Chris orgasm instantaneously. The scene of the crime is all Chris, however; he knows it's rare that that any student treads through the creaking halls of the library, let alone this section. The librarian herself always looks like she's half-asleep. Hopefully she's taking a nice nap right now.

"Your fault, you're driving me crazy," he hisses. He hears Quinto smirk from the floor as he strokes Chris' thighs.

"I knew you would like this," he murmurs.

He goes back to circling his tongue around Chris' entrance, occasionally plunging it inside without a regular cycle or rhythm, and Chris thinks he's liable to fall over or pass out every time. It's just another example of Zach's sexual deviance; one more thing to add to the long list of his fantastically dirty schemes. Zach kneads Chris' ass cheeks with his strong fingers and spreads them apart for better access, fastening his mouth to the quivering ring of muscle. When he leans back to blow air across the wet hole, Chris has a vague, passing thought that Quinto might just be his fucking soul mate.

"You should see how hard you are right now, Chris," Zach whispers, rubbing down his legs again. "Your cock looks so good."

"I can _feel_ it, you don't need to tell me," Chris gripes, but he shudders at the dirty talk anyway. Zach knows all too well that he loves it. " _C'mon_ , Quinto..."

"Patience is a virtue," Zach says. He bites Chris' left buttock, making him jerk.

"I'm all out of fucking virtue; fucking _touch_ me," he growls.

He suspects Zach is probably smiling as he goes back to laving Chris' entrance with his tongue, and when his hand lifts to wrap snugly around his cock, it's blessed relief. Chris bites on his knuckle to hold back a moan and rocks slightly into the warm fist before Quinto grabs his hip to keep him still. He starts to stroke, rough and fast, thrusting his tongue repeatedly, and it's a matter of moments before Chris' eyes are rolling back into his head as a wave of hot, blooming pleasure suddenly clotheslines him. He bucks and comes hard all over the spine of an ancient copy of _Gray's Anatomy_.

"Fuh," he utters, scrabbling to hold himself up as his body starts to succumb to gravity. Zach reaches up and guides him down to the floor by his hips, propping him against the bookcase. It takes a few moments before Chris regains some sense of coherence; when he finally comes back to himself, he blinks dazedly up at Zach. "I came on a book," he whispers.

"As long as it wasn't the Bible," Zach replies, smiling wryly. Chris laughs, kind of goofily. Quinto comes off as pretty funny when Chris is still high on the fumes of a major orgasm. He leans in for a kiss and pouts when Zach keeps him at bay. "Hold on," he says, and digs into his giant backpack, pulling out a small pack of breath strips. He slips one into his mouth and shrugs. "I figured I might need these."

"You're such a geek." Chris smirks and shakes his head at Zach. "Good idea, though. We can avoid any ass-flavored kisses."

"Christopher," Quinto groans, making a disgusted face. "Unnecessary." Chris just rolls his eyes and pulls his pants back up, zipping his fly.

"Just let me know when I can kiss you already. Jesus."

Zach tilts his head and waits for the breath strip to dissolve in his mouth, obviously enjoying the sight of Chris fidgeting. After a few moments, he smiles and reaches up to cup the back of Chris' head, pulling him in for a smoldering, deep kiss. Their tongues swirl together slowly and it's much less hurried than it usually is, even though Chris suspects Zach has got to be at least half-hard at this point. Over the past few days, being forced to avoid penetration, Chris has developed a strong and somewhat bewildering appreciation for the simple act of kissing. Zach has a nice mouth, is all. And he does nice things with his tongue. And when he does something with it that Chris really likes, he's kind enough to do it again and again.

Chris pulls back slightly and lifts his eyebrows, pursing his lips. "Still a little assy. Maybe one more of those strips."

"Shut up," Zach says, grinning. He turns to lean back against Chris' chest, sitting between his legs. Chris slings an arm around his waist and silently marvels at how comfortable it feels: sitting so close to Quinto, doing these things that couples might do. Not that he and Zach are a couple—he doesn't want them to be all gross like Karl and John. He and Quinto are just having fun.

"We're having fun, right?" he asks, quietly. Zach turns his head to look at him.

"I am. Are you?"

"Yeah." Hell, anything beats actually studying during study hall, but Chris imagines Zach would likely have fun studying, too. Zach is always so wrapped up in his schoolwork that it probably means a lot that he's willing to do this instead. "I think I'm pretty much all better by now, too. None of that hurt at all."

"Good," Zach says, nodding seriously. He sweeps his hand over Chris' thigh and the gesture feels so oddly loaded that Chris can't help but lean forward a little to tuck his nose against Quinto's thick, dark hair.

"You wanna hear something weird?" he asks. He pauses after Zach nods again. "Karl actually tried to apologize to me yesterday. He passed me a note that was like, 'Sorry I hurt you' and asked me to forgive him." Chris frowns a little at the memory and then he feels Zach tense against him. He leans back and looks at him in surprise. "What's...oh, man. You didn't say anything to him, did you?"

Zach shifts uncomfortably and looks down. "Maybe," he murmurs. He shrugs when Chris doesn't reply. "I couldn't let him get away with thinking he didn't do anything wrong. He hurt you."

"Zachary." Chris huffs at him, struck by a wave of frustration. He doesn't want Quinto running around and fighting his battles for him; he put doubt into John's head about Karl and that was enough revenge, really. Plus, there's that one part that's been niggling at him that he hasn't really told Zach about, not in so many words. He exhales and scratches the back of his head, then tips it against the hard edge of a bookshelf. "It's not... You don't have to avenge me, okay? I _told_ him to do it. He said he would stop if I asked him to and I told him to keep going." Chris pauses and swallows thickly. It's strange to admit all this aloud for the first time. "It's my fault, too."

Zach keeps his eyes averted, his slick hair falling down into his face when he bows his head. He doesn't say anything at first and Chris bites his lip, wondering if he should prepare himself for the boy's swift exit. Eventually, Zach just touches his knee and rubs lightly. Chris nearly jumps because the touch is so unexpected.

"Okay, well...I still think you were confused. And, I mean, Karl's pretty hot, so...probably hard to turn down." He licks his lips, looking much less like the self-confident young man Chris has seen in him since they started hooking up, and more like the walking target in the school hallway, shielding himself with a giant bag full of books. "He seemed really upset about it, actually...I was kind of surprised at how repentant he was. I was probably too hard on him."

Chris idly reaches up and pushes back the flyaway strands of Zach's hair. "What'd you say to him?"

"I don't really remember," Zach says, squinting. Chris isn't quite sure he believes that, but he doesn't push. "I sort of...punched him."

"You _punched_ him?! Holy shit, Quinto!" Chris exclaims. He hears a distant shushing sound from another section of the library and wrinkles his nose, lowering his voice. "Man, I thought his face looked fucked up...wow. _Wow_. You did that? Christ, Zach, I didn't... Are you fucking crazy?"

Zach blinks at him, startled. "He _hurt_ you," he simply repeats. Chris exhales roughly, gesturing as if Karl is right around the corner.

"Yeah, but he's _bigger_ than you, Zach. You saw what he did to me... What if he really hurt you? I mean...I don't think I could..."

Chris pauses and licks his lips, his mind suddenly racing. It's one thing to make sure jocks like Eric Bana don't use Zach as a punching bag between classes, but if Quinto is just throwing himself into dangerous situations on Chris' behalf without telling him, how is he supposed to protect the boy? And fuck—when did protecting Zach become such a high priority for him, anyway? When did Zach get attached enough to go and do something so bizarre and stupid? Chris blinks and reaches for his bag, his brain threatening to stall out.

"Don't go," Zach whispers first, grabbing Chris' arm to stop him. "Please."

"M'not." Chris breathes in slowly through his nostrils, training his eyes on a spot in the distance. "I'm here."

"Okay."

Zach nods slowly, as if to reassure himself that Chris is telling the truth. Then he turns halfway and curls his hand over the lapel of Chris' blazer, kissing him again, more desperate this time. Chris hesitates before he gives into it, parting his lips so their tongues can meet. He concentrates on the slick heat of Quinto's mouth, reaching down to unzip his trousers on instinct, inwardly pleased when Zach juts his hips up. Chris slides his fingers over his length and bites on his bottom lip, causing Zach to gasp.

"Zach," Chris murmurs, tracing the pronounced vein along the hardening length in his hand. Quinto moans a little in response, going higher in pitch when Chris reaches back with his free hand and grips his hair tightly. He pulls Zach's head against his shoulder, his back flush against Chris' chest, and holds him as he strokes and squeezes Zach's cock, alternating between teasing taps and wet slides of his thumb over the head. Zach doesn't struggle aside from the twitching of his hips and the quickening of his breath. Chris shuts his eyes and whispers in his ear: "Don't be foolish. Not for my sake, Quinto."

"Then whose?" Zach whispers back, between his clenched teeth. Chris doesn't answer, just keeps pumping harder and faster, keeping the fingers in Zach's hair tight and unrelenting. He lets out a frustrated grunt and twists his hand in a way that makes Zach keen; pushes his thumb under the head repeatedly until Zach shakes. He can sense, from all the tension in Zach's body, that he's holding back. Chris licks along the pale shell of his ear and flickers his tongue inside and that's when Zach shudders and lets himself go, coming in a thick spurt across Chris' palm.

He releases Zach's hair and lightly massages his scalp, smiling slightly at the satisfied sigh he hears. Eventually, Chris licks his hand clean and looks up at the clock; the bell is due to ring at any moment. He doesn't know whether to feel relieved or not. He's not really upset or irritated with Zach anymore; now he's just puzzling over the idea that someone would actually go to such lengths for him—actually put himself in danger. It leaves him feeling awed and fuzzy.

The bell rings. Zach moves to zip himself up and kisses Chris' cheek, then leans away to fetch his bag. "See you later?" he asks. When Chris nods, he gets to his feet, scuffing one sole on the floor. "I can't really help it."

"What do you mean?" Chris asks, squinting up at him.

"I think you know," he says. Zach slips his arms through the straps of the backpack and smiles thinly, walking away. Chris peers around the corner of the bookcase and watches him hurry toward the library exit.

As fun as it is to spend study hall messing around with Zach, it makes the rest of the day a burden to bear. Chris arrives slightly late to his next class and the only remaining seat is next to that new Russian kid who claims he's American. He doesn't mind at all—the kid's nice to look at—but so far, he's shown zero interest in Chris. In fact, he seems to have a bit of a crush on _John_ , which is about ten different kinds of hilarious. Chris takes his seat and shoots a bright smile over to Yelchin, who looks up and actually smiles back. And look at that—it's a surprisingly nice smile.

The teacher starts droning about something having to do with grammar and Chris flips to a fresh page in his notebook, starting to doodle. He pauses in his crosshatching when a note lands on his desk. A quick glance over to the next desk gets him a telltale smile from the Yelchin kid again. Chris smothers a laugh into his fist when he reads the brief comment, written in small, immaculate script.

 _You smell like sex._

Yelchin would know, right? _Orgy in the locker room_ , he writes back. _Sorry you missed it_. He hands off the note and receives it back a moment later. This time, Chris casually spreads his legs under his desk as he peruses the reply.

 _Please invite me next time. I want to make friends._

Chris licks his lips and smiles faintly to himself, folding up the note and tucking it away. He doesn't turn his head to see if Anton is bothered.

After about ten minutes of a painfully dull lecture, the teacher instructs the class to form groups of two for grammar exercises. Chris lifts his head and glances around the room idly. Zach sits a few rows away, but he's out for obvious reasons. John has been avoiding him for a few days now—big shock. He'd pair with Eric, but that never ends up going well; the guy has meatloaf for brains. Chris leans over, about to ask Zoe if she wants to be his partner, when someone grabs his arm and jerks him back into his seat.

"You're with me," Anton says, a smug smile curving his lips. Chris barks out a laugh.

"Yeah, right. You don't even speak English."

"Yes, I do." Anton frowns, his speech clipped and curt when he continues. "You're so horrible and yet so popular. This is why high school is for idiots."

"Can't argue with that," Chris says. He leans forward, folding his arms on his desk, resigned to his fate. "So...what are we supposed to be doing? I wasn't really listening."

Yelchin scoots his desk closer. "You're going to help me make friends," he says. He's got that devious smile again and Chris furrows his brow; it almost feels like looking into a mirror. "You're friends with that boy...John. Right?"

"John Cho?" Chris grins and glances over at John, who gives him a definite fuck-off-and-die look when he feels the eyes on him. "Sure, best friends forever. What about him?"

"He's hot." Yelchin purses his lips, idly touching his tie. Chris notices, of course, and arches his brow. "I want to go out with him," Anton says. As if Chris doesn't know what _go out with him_ really means.

"Yeah?" He's grinning even harder now because god, isn't life grand sometimes? Chris couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to permanently fuck up Karl's little thing with John, because come on—Anton's got those eyes and those curls and that _mouth_ , fucking Christ on a cracker, and there's no way John could stand his moral high ground for long with the sight of all _that_ kneeling before him. And to think, the other day he was so stressed out because he couldn't think of a proper way to get revenge. It's like Christmas come early, really. He squares his shoulders and puts on his best _I'm being so serious right now_ face. "Well, _I_ think you should..."

But then he finds himself trailing off, thinking about what Zach said in the library and that fucking note from Karl... _ugh_. Chris bristles and curses under his breath; a perfect opportunity to wreak some havoc and everyone's conspiring against him with their niceness. Anton leans forward, looking confused.

"Go on," he urges. Chris just frowns to himself and waves a hand dismissively.

"Uh...never mind. John is, uh...he's taken. He's got a boyfriend."

Anton twists his mouth slightly and nods. "Is it that Karl person? With the dark hair and the twisty eyebrows? I saw him staring at John in drama class."

"That's him," Chris agrees. He watches as a range of emotions flicker openly over Yelchin's face; he can tell the kid is debating with himself whether or not he should go for John anyway. Considering that he's fucking Father Bruce on a regular basis to stay in this school, he probably knows the extent of his persuasive powers. Eventually, the kid finishes weighing the pros and cons and sighs, ready to move on.

"Okay, well...there is one other boy I've noticed," he says. Chris sits up, suddenly interested.

"Yeah? Who?"

"Him," Anton murmurs, pointing across the room. Pointing...at Zach.

And holy shit—the little Russian all over Zach? The mere idea beats watching him suck off Father Bruce any day. But it also sets off a twinge of jealousy in Chris' gut, one that he can't quite explain. He fidgets slightly, squinting as he looks over at Zach, who ended up working on the class project with Zoe. "Oh yeah?" he manages to get out, though his throat feels painfully dry. "Why, um...why him?"

Anton shrugs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "He's so quiet and mysterious. A bookworm, you know? But I bet he has a wild side. He has to; with those eyes and that body...he's so striking. I like that."

"Yeah, well," Chris begins, licking his lips again. "He's really shy. And withdrawn. And the jocks pick on him all the time. I mean, he seems like a loner, so..."

"I like that, too," Anton counters. Chris feels himself floundering, realizing he has to take a different direction with this.

"Okay, sure, but—he's a nerd. A _huge_ nerd. Seriously, all he does is study. He's always doing homework and he never goes out anywhere and he'd rather stay home and read fucking scripture or whatever than go to parties, so he's not really—"

"So you know him," Anton interjects. He looks extremely pleased. "Do you think you could tell him I'm interested? I'm sure I could convince him to put down his books for one night."

Chris blinks, feeling dizzy. For the second time this afternoon, he has no idea what's going on in his own head. One thing he does know for sure is that the mental image of Zach and Anton together is sexy enough to break his brain wide open. On the other hand...he's never thought about having to share—that is, if Zach is even his to share.

He runs his palm over his face and pictures the way Zach first looked at him in the confessional booth. He replays the soft surprise in his voice when Chris helped him put on the leather jacket; the lust Chris could feel radiating off him when he pressed his face to the fabric and breathed in, his fingers clutching, wanting. Reaching.

"I—I'll talk to him," he finally blurts. He flexes his hands, the skin of his palms feeling clammy. Anton smiles triumphantly.

"Great," he replies, picking up his pen. "Now, fucking bullshit grammar."

"Onward and upward," Chris mutters. His conversation with himself goes more like, _I'm so fucking fucked._

The end of the day can't come any sooner than it does. He watches John hurry out of their ninth period class as usual, though he doesn't sprint down the hall with the same excitement in his step he once had. When Chris gets to his locker, there's a note waiting for him. _Stay right here_ , it reads. Chris exhales and tosses a book into the metal cabinet, then takes out his jacket, pulling it on. When he slams the locker door shut, he finds Zach standing there in the borrowed—well, gifted—leather jacket, smiling impishly and looking like sex on two legs.

"So, you have three choices," he begins. He adjusts his backpack strap and then counts on his fingers. "One, we celebrate your newly healed state by going and fucking in the church pews. Two, we fuck behind the bleachers. Or, three...we go to my house, because my parents are both working late."

Chris gapes a bit at first, shifting on his feet. He and Zach have never invited each other over to each other's houses before. He'd guess that Zach is out of kinky locales in the school if he weren't for the suggestion of the bleachers—that's a new one. Plus, the look on his face suggests nothing short of sincerity. Man, today has just been freaky all over.

"Well," he starts, about to accept the offer before he can think himself out of it, when someone shouts his name. Chris turns and feels his face go hot at the sight of Yelchin jogging down the hall. He wants to tell Zach to run with him in the other direction as fast as he can, but it's no use now; they've been spotted.

"Chris!" Anton exhales when he gets to them, smiling brightly. "Did you ask Zach yet?"

"Uh...no." Chris looks around anxiously. Not only is Anton bringing attention to the fact that he's standing here with Quinto, but he's also shamelessly raking his eyes over the dark-haired boy's form and Chris is sweating bullets. He's grateful the corridor is already mostly empty. "Yelchin, now's not a good time," he says, trying to sound gruff.

"Ask me what?" Zach says hesitantly.

"If you'll hook up with me," the boy replies casually. Chris nearly rolls his eyes; the Russian transplant seems to have his English idioms fairly down pat. Anton moves closer to Zach, lightly running his fingers down the front of the leather jacket— _Chris'_ leather jacket—and tilts his head, cherubic curls swaying gently. Zach visibly tenses on the other end of the attention, his dark eyes darting over at Chris with a glimmer of uncertainty. Anton doesn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in pawing at the jacket. "Nice," he comments, flicking a fingertip against a zipper. "I knew there was more to you than just a big...backpack."

Zach backs up against the lockers, the picture of discomfort. "I'm not—I don't even know who you are," he murmurs. He pushes Yelchin's hand away and Chris feels a thrill of pride; Zach has never done that to him.

"I thought you said you would ask him for me." Anton gives Chris a confused look, then notices the second leather jacket. He laughs sharply and Chris feels his cheeks turn pink as the puzzle pieces interlock for the little Russian boy wonder. It's supposed to be a secret, this thing between him and Zach—fucking Yelchin, of all people, isn't meant to know about it. Chris glances at every available spot he can find that's not currently occupied by Anton or Zach; even so, he feels Zach's heavy stare on him, hears his quickened breath as if it's right next to his ear.

"Even better," Anton says. He's got the same calculating expression that Chris recognizes from earlier, and he smirks before leaning in to whisper in Zach's ear. Whatever he says makes Zach's breath hitch. Chris feels his cock stir in response to the sight of Zach's lips parting with a soft inhalation of air. Then, swift and assured, Anton draws back and pats both of their shoulders, moving between them.

"Think about it," he suggests, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag as he strolls away. And just like that, it's only the two of them again. Chris shifts his gaze from Anton's retreating form to Zach, stepping forward to erase the distance between them.

"Zach," he whispers, not quite knowing what to say. His curiosity gets the best of him in the end. "What'd he say to you?"

"Um. He, um...it was..."

Zach falters, barely able to look him in the eye. Chris can't recall ever seeing the boy so shaken before; even when he used to taunt the boy, half the fun was in seeing if he could land a blow to that dignified exterior—he rarely could. Zach bites his lip and Chris doesn't even think about the possibility of someone in the corridor watching—he reaches up and caresses Zach's jaw, touches the tip of his thumb to the corner of his open mouth.

"Let's go to your house," he says, as quietly as he can. Because yes, of course he wants to go to Zach's house—option three, it's not even a _question_. Maybe he's getting himself into trouble by wanting this so much, but fuck if he's going to let some horny Russian kid ruin his afternoon. His heart skips a beat when Zach looks up at him with a doubtful gaze, his lips still parted but saying nothing. "Come on, Zachary," Chris tries again, motioning toward the exit. "Let's go."

Zach inhales deeply before grabbing Chris' hand, pulling him toward an empty classroom and shoving him inside. Chris nearly stumbles into the front desk as Quinto locks the door behind them. Then he's on Chris like a shot, grabbing him by his spiky hair and pushing his other hand below the waistband of his trousers. Chris grunts in surprise, clutching the edge of the desk, his knuckles blanching from the strain. Zach bites his bottom lip, licks between his teeth.

"He said he wanted to watch me fuck you over a desk," he hisses into the hot cavern of Chris' mouth. "What did you _tell_ him, Christopher?"

"Nothing," he croaks. His thoughts begin to swirl in an infinite number of sinful directions and he clutches Zach's tie to pull him closer. " _Nothing_ , I—he came up with it on his own; he's a fucking pervert..."

"He's a whore like you."

Zach twists his hand sharply on Chris' length, tugging without regard for build-up or foreplay. He knows exactly how Chris likes it by now, and with a squeeze and a rough jerk of his wrist, Chris comes undone in mere seconds, pupils drifting toward the ceiling as he shudders and stains his uniform trousers. He struggles to catch his breath and clings to Zach's biceps, pulled taut with tension as they hold up Chris' loose limbs.

"I want to do it," Zach whispers in his ear. "But then...I don't."

"I know," he murmurs. He mouths at the pale skin beneath Zach's ear, feeling like he's been drugged. "Me too."

Zach's breath is a warm breeze in his hair, tickling his scalp. Chris sags slightly and tries to gather himself enough to stand upright, but then Quinto's hands move to his shoulders and push down, guiding him to his knees. He goes down.

"What about your house?" he whispers, curling his fingers around Zach's thighs. Quinto runs his thumb over Chris' jaw, then unzips his pants, pushing them down.

"Can't wait that long."

Chris closes his eyes for a moment, looking up again when he feels Zach's cock nudging against his mouth. He licks his lips, the tip of his tongue catching on the slick, swollen head, and Zach hisses above him. If there's one thing Chris won't do, it's make Zach wait—not like this. He opens his mouth and lets Quinto thrust inside, a peculiar quaver in his moan when their eyes meet—enough to make him wonder just who it is Zach sees there, kneeling on the dusty floor before him. Zach holds him on his cock, one hand firm in its grip on Chris' hair as the other forms the sign of the cross: forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder.


End file.
